


Teine San Fhuil

by WickedGoodBooks



Series: Downhill Ficlets [2]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Downhill ficlet, F/M, but a lot of you asked for it, so here you go :), this time non-fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29339358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedGoodBooks/pseuds/WickedGoodBooks
Summary: This ficlet takes place a couple of weeks after  "Homecoming".An interview takes place.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp & Brian Fraser, Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Series: Downhill Ficlets [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095380
Comments: 119
Kudos: 188





	Teine San Fhuil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [motherof3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/motherof3/gifts).



> I've already let it slip here and there that I had another Downhill Ficlet up my sleeve, and, well, I guess here it is. I think this is the one I always thought would be the first thing I write, and one of those that most people asked for throughout the entire journey that was DH.  
> I struggled since the conception of the original story how exactly to do it, but there were one or two things in "Homecoming" that inspired a very productive creative nap one day, and I just had to sit down and write all of it down before it could slip away again.
> 
> Long story short, this was finished even before the second part of Homecoming, and while it's not *fluff*, I am very pleased with how it turned out. 
> 
> Though I am a wee bit late in making this a birthday present (tumblr notifications are at fault), I want to gift this ficlet to one of the most outspoken supporters of this wee family I've created.  
> Thank you so much, Erin, for cheering them on, for making me believe what I've created is worth waiting for.

**_Teine San Fhuil_ (Fire in the blood) – A Downhill Ficlet**

“This way, please,” Brian said, leading today’s applicant for the radiologist position into Claire’s office. “Dr Fraser is terribly sorry, but she was held up. She’ll be joining us in a few—"

“Could I mebbe ha’ some tea while I wait?” The woman, dressed in a business-tan suit and a frilly silk blouse, cut him off with a platonic smile. “Decaf would be grand, if ye ha’ it.”

“Aye…aye, o’ course,” Brian assented, wiping any hint of surprise from his expression with a blink. “I was about tae offer. Milk and sugar?”

“Both, thank ye.”

“Coming righ’ up.”

Closing the door softly behind him, Brian set off with long strides towards the kitchen, from which a mildly harried-looking Claire emerged. Her golden gaze connected with his, white coat billowing out behind her as she rushed to meet him.

He held one hand up, answering the unspoken question in her eyes, “Dr MacKimmie is awready in yer office, _a leannan_.”

“Has she been waiting long?” she puffed slightly, brushing a wild lock of hair behind her ear.

“I _jus’_ brought her in. Dinnae fash yersel’ too much—ye ken well enough that stress isnae good fer ye and the bairn.”

“I know, I know,” mouth tilting with a sheepish smile, her left hand moved instinctively over the barely-there curve of her belly. “I’m trying, but that damned car really doesn’t make it easy.”

“Jamie and the lads are awright, though, aye?”

“Yes, they’re all fine. They didn’t even make it out of Inverness—blasted thing didn’t even start this time. I think it’s really time we invested in a new one.”

“Anyway,” her shoulders rose and fell with a deep, fortifying breath. “That can wait until later. Should we head in?”

“I was on ma way tae make some tea fer her. Why don’t ye go in and chat a bit until I get that done?” Brian suggested with a jerk of his head towards the end of the corridor. “That’ll gi’ ye a bit o’ time tae get yet heid sorted afore we start wi’ the interview.”

“Some tea and a minute to catch my breath sound like heaven right now.”

“Weel, make that five, then,” he chuckled, squeezing her biceps in passing. “Peppermint or chamomile?”

“Chamomile, please,” she called over her shoulder. “And—”

“One o’ those blueberry scones? Aye, ye got it.”

“You’re a godsend, Brian Fraser,” was the last murmur he heard before she vanished through her office door.

“Sae are you, _mo nighean_ ,” he said, smiling softly to himself. “Sae are you.”

Claire pushed the door to her office open with a flourish. “I’m so sorry, I—”

The apology for her lateness died on her lips as soon as a watery blue gaze shifted towards her in greeting. Recognition hit her with the blunt force of a sledgehammer. Crushing through the centre of her chest, it widened her eyes and slackened her jaw with disbelief. Nothing could have prepared her for the shock of seeing _that_ face again.

“Laoghaire.”

When the name eventually made it past her lips, it sounded clinically cool, polite, even—quite at odds with the storm brewing inside.

Something indecipherable flashed briefly in the other woman’s eyes. “Claire.”

Neither made a move, both too stunned to speak.

Closing the door shut, Claire was the first to break the silence, “I never thought I’d see you again.”

If Laoghaire was taken aback by that statement, she hid it well beneath a mask of composed amiability.

“Aye, it’s…it’s quite the surprise tae see ye up here in the North as weel. How ha’ ye been? I see ye’ve another last name now? Did ye get marrit, then?”

“Yes.” Moving to sit down behind her desk, she was suddenly intensely grateful for that antique bulwark of protection. “So did you, apparently.”

 _If I’d known, you wouldn’t be here_.

“Aye, I did…It was a while ago.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank ye, same tae ye.” The words, though outwardly friendly, had a distinctive tightness to them. “Was that yer husband then? It’s a family-run clinic, no?”

“It _is_ a family venture, yes,” Claire returned with the same forced politeness, fingertips digging into the muscle above her left knee. The audacity of that woman to bring up _family_ in Claire’s presence turned her stomach sour and her blood hot. “My husband runs the physiotherapy side of things. But that was Brian, my father-in-law. He was going to stand in for the interview today because my husband is stuck in Inverness.”

“Was?” Blonde hair swayed to the side as Laoghaire tilted her head prettily, blinking at her with deceptively innocent eyes. “Is he no longer going tae join us, then?”

“There’s not going to be an interview anymore.”

“There isnae?” fair eyebrows rose in tune with her inflection.

“No.”

“If this is about the tea—I didnae mean tae be rude, it’s jus’ that it was a long drive, and—"

“No,” Claire snapped, drawing a sharp, cleansing breath into her lungs. “As you pointed out already,” she continued, nails sinking a little deeper into her thigh, “this is a family business. I don’t know about you, but it seems pretty unlikely to me that anyone would hire the person who tried to destroy theirs.”

Real confusion seemed to settle over the groomed brow across from her. “I beg yer pardon?”

“Oh, is that how it is?” Claire leaned back in her chair, observing the other woman coldly. “Are we going to pretend we don’t know what you did?”

“I’m sorry, but I truly dinnae ken what ye’re talking about.”

“No? Well, I’m happy to remind you,” she said, turning the largest of the wooden picture frames adorning her desktop around for Laoghaire to see.

The image captured wasn’t particularly significant in the grand scheme of things. If not for its size, the casual visitor would have likely overlooked it amidst those of an intimate wedding, lavish scone parties, and chaotic family trips. To Claire, however, that moment was one of the most precious memories to call her own. Observed by no one but the morning tide, she and Jamie had cozied up to each other at the top of an outcrop overlooking the beach. Sitting in the cradle of his legs, their eyes had lit up with the rise of a new day, windswept smiles plastered on their faces as they exchanged past memories of Porto Santo Beach with new ones. That time, they hadn’t been strangers—they’d come as lovers, parents, as two halves of one soul, knowing they’d never be apart again.

Laoghaire’s reaction to it was little more than a widening of pupils and a minuscule twitch at the right corner of her mouth. Had Claire not been watching her like a hawk, she would have missed it.

“I see you recognise my husband.”

Face slightly paler than before, the blonde woman’s throat moved heavily, but no words came forth.

“This is your chance to say something,” Claire prompted with more restraint than she thought herself capable of.

“I…” Laoghaire began, averting her gaze for the first time. “I’m no’ sure what tae say.”

“Most people would probably start with an apology,” she pointed out dryly. “But then again, most people have something like a moral compass.”

“I dinnae ha’ an excuse,” Laoghaire offered finally, raising her eyes back up. “All I can say is that I was a silly, jealous child.” As she said it, she even looked the part—knees demurely together, hands folded delicately in her lap. The only thing betraying her as the grown, accomplished woman that she was, was a wily sort of hardness around her mouth. “What I did was inexcusable, despicable.” Agreeing wholeheartedly with that pointed assessment, Claire’s nostrils flared slightly, derision burning behind her every breath. “I’m ashamed o’ what I did tae ye. There are nae words tae describe how sorry I am.”

Claire didn’t reply; just looked straight at the woman whose deceptions had cost her so much. _Really_ looked. She considered all the gentle edges and sharp curves, weighed all the choreographed and genuine elements of deferential composition before her.

She spoke after several heartbeats of silence, “The problem after you lie once is that people will never fully trust your word again.” Laoghaire’s mouth opened, but Claire wasn’t done yet. “Maybe you do regret what you did, maybe you don’t. It doesn’t matter now.” There was no bite to her words, only truth. “Maybe you even deserve forgiveness.”

Her implied question was followed by a pregnant pause.

“I’m…” the other woman swallowed but managed to hold her own to Claire’s piercing gaze. “I do hope that ye might find it in yer heart tae fergi’ me.”

Claire nodded, absentmindedly smoothing a strand of hair out of her face as she did so. “I can forgive.”

“Y-ye can? Lord, tha—”

Raising a hand, Claire stopped her. “I can forgive the jealousy—or whatever mean-spiritedness it was—that drove you to lie about having Rupert’s number. I can forgive the moment of selfishness where you felt that you’d gain a victory by keeping that from me. I can forgive that. And I do.”

“That’s sae—” Laoghaire tried to butt in once more, but Claire ignored her.

“I might even have been able to forgive your deceit. Lying to Jamie when he reached out to you, making him believe I was pregnant with another man’s child—robbing him, me, and our son of each other.” At the mention of William, her gaze automatically went to the picture on the far right, from which her firstborn’s gold-specked eyes smiled up at her. “I might have been able to forgive the hurt you inflicted, the years you stole from us—if it hadn’t been for your silence.”

Laoghaire must have sensed there was more to come, because this time, she kept silent even though the wish to speak strained at the skin of her knuckles and the seams of her mouth.

“Fifteen years, Laoghaire. It took you _fifteen_ years to admit what you did and apologise for it.” Laugher burst unexpectedly from the centre of her chest, head shaking at the absurdity of it all. “And you only did it because I didn’t give you any other choice. You had no idea that I’d found him. You chose to stay silent, knowing that you cost an innocent child his father.”

“I-I—"

The door opened with a gnarly squeak, interrupting whatever excuse Laoghaire was going to bring up in her defence.

“I’m sorry it took sae long, but I couldnae find the decaf—” Brian stopped dead the instant he set foot into the room.

His light blue glance darting back and forth between the two women, he seemed unsure what to make of that choking atmosphere. “Is e’rything awrigh’ in here?”

“Yes,” Claire threw him a tight little smile. “Perfect timing, actually. We were just done here.”

“Ye are?”

“Yes,” she got to her feet and moved the large picture frame back into its place. “We’ve said all there was to say. Would you please see her out?”

Whatever Brian heard in Claire’s voice was enough for him to set down the tray and jump into action. “This way then, Dr MacKimmie.”

Shouldering her bag, Laoghaire rose wordlessly to her feet. She’d made it almost through the door when she suddenly turned back. “Claire,” she said quietly, showing as little—or as much—emotion as she seemed capable of, “I ken it’s no’ worth much now, but I need ye tae know that I _am_ sorry. And whether I deserve it or no’, I do ask yer fergi’eness.”

“You know…” Fingertips lingering on the wooden frame, her voice reflected only regret, no accusation, “… if at any point during the last fifteen years you’d come forward and straight up told me what you’d done… tried to make it right somehow… I would have forgiven it all.”

Laoghaire’s throat dipped low, her eyes wide but focused as she listened.

“If not from me, I hope you can earn forgiveness from yourself someday.”

“Goodbye,” Claire added, her gaze mirroring the finality in her voice.

“Goodbye.”

Holding her breath, Claire listened as the heeled footfalls of Laoghaire MacKenzie retreated down the hall until, once and for all, the door fell shut behind her.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, my gratitude to the people who help me put things into shape: @elizabeth_beauchamp, @holdhertightandsayhername, @SassySassenach (moodboard magician)
> 
> and to you, loveliest of readers, whose kudos and comments brighten my days, especially now. it's such a pleasure to see new and familiar faces, to read your thoughts and hear what you enjoyed about each installment. thank you, thank you, thank you.
> 
> I sincerely hope that this could give some of you the same closure that Claire got. :)


End file.
